


promise i won't push you straight to the dirt

by angryjane



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: Babies, Broken Bones, Canon Compliant, Canon-Typical Violence, Children, Enemies, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mentioned Mage (Simon Snow), Mere, No Angst, No actual violence, Not Beta Read, One Shot, POV Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, Short One Shot, Soft Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch, The Mage (Simon Snow) is an Asshole, They are, This Is STUPID, Watford (Simon Snow), Watford Second Year, broken leg to be more clear, but not painful? like this is fun adn gentle, he's not actually there lmao, i guess, injured simon snow, the mage sux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-25
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:28:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24908389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angryjane/pseuds/angryjane
Summary: Simon comes back injured from a mission with the Mage in the middle of the night. he refuses to go to the nurse, adndBaz can't just let him die. Where's the fun in that?set second year, no gore or violence, seriously really minor hurt. no angst.title from Training Wheels by Melanie Martinez
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch & Simon Snow, Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 7
Kudos: 73





	promise i won't push you straight to the dirt

**Author's Note:**

> this was spurred bc i wrote the tiny bit where baz says there's a mole that simon's mother would have kissed. this is... not related to that in the slightest it just happened lmao. i'm working on a really long fic rn so this was a good break :)
> 
> it wrote it in a short time and did not proof read at ALL dont come for me

This isn’t the first time Snow has barged into our room bleeding and bruised. It’s happened a few times, actually. The Mage has been dragging him off for weird missions all year, and Simon won’t tell me what they’re doing. 

“You’re gonna plot if I tell you!” He insists every time I ask. 

“I’m going to plot against you anyway,” I always tell him, “It’s my thing.” 

Simon says my thing is looking like a vampire prick. If only he knew. 

Usually I ignore him when he comes in like this, all banged up. If he isn’t going to tell me what’s happening, I’m not going to help him. 

But this time is worse than last time, and the time before that too. He’s really hurt this time: he’s limping, and there’s a nasty gash over his right eye. I spell the lights on.

“What happened to you?” I ask, sitting up in bed. It’s far after curfew. I’d been asleep. “Trip over some trees, out prancing with the Mage?” 

“We weren’t  _ prancing _ ,” He mumbles, collapsing onto his bed, “And no. I didn’t trip. I  _ was tripped _ . It’s different.” 

I roll my eyes at that. “By who?” 

“What do you care?” He glares at me, eyebrows pulling in confusion. “What’s that gunk on your face?” 

“Face mask. I was  _ trying _ to sleep.” 

“With gunk on your face?” 

“It’s… moisturizing.” 

He snorts. “I hate that word.” He ladies there for a while, breath slowing and evening out. Once I’m sure he’s asleep, I stand up and lean over him, examining him for more wounds. Not because I care, but because it could be useful information. Potential weaknesses, and stuff. 

There’s a slew of bruises along his right arm, and a tear in his shirt that reveals angry red welts along his ribs. In fact, his entire right side is messed up, from head to toe. 

I should probably leave him alone, let him sleep it off. Or maybe I should just finish him now, while he’s asleep and already in bad shape. 

Carefully, I poke at his shoulder. “Snow,” I hiss. He doesn’t budge, groaning in his sleep. I realize I’m poking his right shoulder, where there are probably more bruises. I poke his other side. “Snow, wake up.” 

He rolls over a little, putting his weight on his right arm in the process. That does the trick. Bolting upright, he winces, rubbing at his side and shoulder. He mumbles something unintelligible. 

“What was that, moron?” I ask, stepping back and away from him.

“Hurts,” Is all he says, grunting. 

I roll my eyes. “Go to the nurse, Snow. You’re hurt really badly.” 

He gives me an affronted look. “No.” it comes out disgusted, like he hates the idea more than anything. More than me. 

“You have to,” I tell him. 

He digs his heels in. “No.”

“Why not.” It’s a statement, not a question. I sit down on my bed, facing him. 

“They don’t like me. They poke me with needles and give me dirty looks.” 

“I do that,” I point out. 

“You don’t poke me with needles.” 

“Would you like me to?” 

He recoils, glancing at my hands as if I had a syringe now. “No, don’t. I don’t like the nurse, I’m not going.” 

I huff, glowering. “You have to, Snow. You could die.” I don’t know if that’s true. But it might as well be. 

He looks stricken, eyes widening comically. One of his curls flops down onto his forehead when he leans forward. “You think so?” 

“I know so. I’ll make sure of it.” 

He rolls his eyes at me then. “You wouldn’t.” 

“Wanna bet?” 

Shifting on his bed, he looks down at his hands. His knuckles are swollen and purple, abused. 

“Where were you?” I ask, curiosity getting the best of me. 

To my surprise, he answers me without hassle. “Some stone giants were breaking a treaty, or something. That’s what the Mage said.” His voice is honest; Simon isn’t one to lie. I believe him. 

I watch as he runs a thumb over his knuckles again. “Did you punch a stone giant, Snow?” I sneer, “They’re called  _ stone _ giants for a reason, you know. I’m surprised you didn’t shatter your hands.” 

He shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know.” 

“You don’t  _ know _ ? What, did you hit your head too?” My eyes dart up to the gash on his forehead. It’s still bleeding. He’s crying. 

“I went off. I might have punched it while I was… like that. I don’t know.”

I flinch. I’ve seen him go off; it’s an amazing sight, if not the scariest thing I’ve ever seen. I’ve also been punched by Simon Snow. I can only imagine the two combined.

He’s still crying though. I don’t know if it's because of his wounds or something inside. 

“I could have hurt someone.” 

I snort, despite myself. “The stone giants? I think that was the point, Snow.” 

He shakes his head slowly. “Someone else. The Mage, or something.” 

A little bit of hope surges up inside me. “Did you? Hurt him?” 

He doesn’t even look up to glare at me. “No. He left before that.” 

I freeze, rage suddenly seizing me. “He  _ left? _ While you were still facing  _ giants _ ?” I must sound mad, because he looks up sharply, eyebrows drawn. 

“Uh, yeah? That’s how it usually goes?” 

I’ve always known the Mage was despicable. Setting aside everything my family says, this is just  _ terrible _ . Simon Snow may be the greatest magician the World of Mages has ever seen, but he’s  _ twelve _ . He can’t even spell his laces tied. He’s a stupid, and brave, and honest. And the Mage  _ left him _ . The Mage  _ usually _ leaves him. 

I don’t even  _ like _ Simon, but I’m seeing red. 

“Baz? What’s wrong?” Simon asks, and I could swear there’s some genuine concern there. He’s leaning forward, confused and almost- scared? 

I clench my finst at my side. “Nothing. The Mage is evil, Snow, you know that, right?” 

He shakes his head. “No he’s not.” 

“He left you to face giants, alone, without backup or anything.”

He laughs lightly. “Backup? What am I, like a cop? I don’t really like them. I want to be a firefighter.” 

I narrow my eyes, ignoring him. “He shouldn’t do that. You could get hurt. You  _ did _ get hurt.” I gesture at him, bleeding out on the bed. (Well, probably not bleeding  _ out _ , but bleeding a lot.)

He bristles. “What do you care?” He asks, for the second time since he came stumbling in here.

I straighten up. “I don’t.” 

“Then leave me alone. I’m going to sleep, and I’m  _ not _ going to the nurse’s office.” He lays down on top of the covers, rolling over to face the wall, back to me. That puts him on his left side; I can hear him shudder and wince.

I deliberate for a moment. On the one hand, he really should go to the nurse. On the other, if he dies now it’ll make my life a lot easier, probably. No more dirty socks on the ground, and the Families will be happy, as a bonus. 

I watch a tremor wrack through him. He whimpers softly, shifting on the bed. 

With a sigh, I dig my wand out from under my pillow. 

“Snow,” I demand, “Sit up.” 

“Why?” He growls. I hate it when he does that, it makes me feel tingly. He probably puts magic into it, or something. I’ve seen him turn normal words into magic ones, so it wouldn’t be a surprise. 

“So I can heal you, you numpty.”

“Just let me die,” He tells me, the fool. 

“Then I have to tell the Mage you’re dead, and he’ll have me tried for treason, or something. That’s a lot of hassle, and for what? At least let me clean the wounds.” 

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, and I would think he had fallen asleep if I couldn’t hear his jagged breathing. At least vampire hearing is good for one thing.

But then he sits up, slowly, and turns around, pouting. “Fine. No needles though.” 

“Where would I get a needle, Snow? Why would I need one?” 

He shrugs. “The nurses have loads, and they’re as evil as you are. Probably even more.” 

I snort. “That’s first.” 

A wicked grin crosses his face and he laughs. “Ha! You admit it! You’re an evil vampire!”

“No one said anything about vampires, Snow,” I say coolly, giving him as flat a look as I can muster. 

He rolls his eyes, unperturbed. “I’ll prove it one day. Just you wait.” 

“If you live to see tomorrow,” I tell him, gesturing at him with my wand and stepping closer. He flinches. 

Kneeling at the beside him, I reach for his arm. To my surprise, he lets me. His skin is more purple than gold, almost entirely bruised. 

“Crowley, Snow. It’s a wonder you got out alive.” 

He shrugs. “My arm is fine. They’ll heal. My leg hurts more.” 

I shift my focus down to his leg, gripping his ankle. He winces. 

“I can’t tell what’s wrong with it like this. You have to take your pants off.” 

He doesn’t say anything, just nods. I get up, heading wordlessly to the en suite to give him privacy. 

When I come back, he’s sitting on the bed still, sans pants. The blankets are bunched around his waist. I take a seat on the floor in front of him, pulling his foot into my lap and examining it. It’s swollen and purple, ugly. His leg is almost as beaten up as his arm, in terms of bruises, but the alarming thing is his shin. It’s bent slightly in a way it definitely shouldn’t be. 

Carefully, keeping my touch light, I probe the area with my fingers. Snow cries out pitifully. 

“I think it’s broken,” I tell him, letting go of his shin to check for broken bones in his foot. It seems mostly okay, just bruised. There’s a cut on his ankle that I take care of with a muttered,  **_Snitches get stitches_ ** .” The wound pulls itself together, the flesh folding over the red insides mesmerizingly, like it’s being sewn shut. 

He hisses above me. I get on my knees to reach him, closing the wound on his head and casting a cleaning spell over it. The dried blood disappears, leaving his forehead sheened with sweat. 

“I could try setting it,” I offer. 

“Do you know how?” 

I shrug. I don’t usually shrug. Simon must be rubbing off on me. I hate him. “No. But I think I could do it. It would probably hurt though.” 

He chews on his bottom lip, mulling it over. 

“If we don’t fix it soon, it’ll heal all wrong,” I tell him. 

After a moment, he nods, stealing himself, shoulders set. “As long as there’s no needles.” 

“You’re an idiot,” I spit, glaring at him. There’s a mole on his cheek that wasn’t there last week. It looks perfect for someone to plant a kiss on-- probably his mother, if he had one. Or Wellbelove. I’d bet anything they’ll end up together. I don’t think she deserves him. He’s too noble and rough and she’s too faint-hearted and frilly. Like a lamb. 

First, I poke at his ribs, examining the angry red splotches, which turn out to be burns. They’re easy to clean up ( **_“_ ** **Out of the embers”** is the only spell I know for burns, a simple spell but it works well enough) before I’m back to his leg. 

I glance up at him, quirking a brow. He looks pained already, and I’m not even touching him. 

“You could always go to the nurse, they’d be happy to inject you with something to numb-” 

“No, no, just do it, do it!” He rushes, throwing a hand over his eyes and the other over his mouth. I stare for a moment, before getting up and going over to my bed. 

He takes his hand off his eyes when he hears me moving, confused. “Baz, wait, just do it, come back.” 

I ignore him, digging in my bedside table. Once I find what I’m looking for, I turn to him, holding it behind my back. “You’re not allowed to tell anyone about what I’m about to show you,” I tell him, trying my best to look severe. 

He nods, tilting his head like a bird. 

“No, you have to swear it. With magic.” 

He gulps, but nods again, holding out his palm. I take his hand, muttering the incantation. 

“What is it?” He asks, distracted from his wounds for the moment. 

I sigh, but hand it to him, watching his reactions. First, his eyebrows raise, then his mouth drops open, and finally, he takes it, stubby fingers wrapping around its neck. 

“You have a stuffed animal?” Snow laughs, throwing his head back, “Of a-- what is this? A cheetah?” 

“It’s a leopard, you dolt. And you can’t tell anyone.” I scowl at him, kicking his good leg. 

“Ow! I won’t tell anyone, I promise. And besides, you spelled me mute anyway. I dunno what kind of things would happen if I tell, but they’re probably really bad.” He reasons, still marvelling at the stuffie. I don’t bother to tell him the incantation was made up. 

I get back into position by his feet, bracing one hand by his knee and the other by his ankle. “Squeeze it if it hurts.” 

“What?” 

I look up at him. “I see it in the movies all the time. People squeeze someone’s hand if it hurts. But I need both hands for this.” 

He grimaces. “Like I’d want to hold your hand anyway.” 

I decide not to answer that. “Ready?” 

He nods, squeezing his eyes shut. I probably should have put another silencing spell on the room-- I put one down at the beginning of the year, just in case, but it might not hold. I don’t know what the ‘just in case’ might be, but Fiona says it’s best to always be prepared. 

I’ve only ever seen this on TV, and it looked easy enough then. I just have to line the two pieces up right, and then I can cast a mending spell. Four years ago, when I was eight, Fiona tried to give me first aid training, and I remember her telling me bones have to be set before they’re spelled, like Normals use casts. I wish she’d thought to teach me to set bones too. WOuld have helped right around now. 

I try to be gentle, but he shouts anyway. There’s a soft sound that makes me recoil. I can’t imagine how much it hurts. I’m almost sympathetic. 

It on;y takes a second, and then I’m scrambling for my wand. I hope the spell works, because I don’t know any others. “ ** _Snitches get stitches,”_** I tell his leg, doing my best to enunciate it. It’ll probably take better that way. Simon shouts again, knuckles going white on the leopard. For a minute I think he’s going to destroy it. It was a gift from my mother just before she died. 

But then he lets go of it, flopping back onto the mattress and panting, his chest heaving. 

I want to ask him if he’s alright. I don’t. Instead, I stand over him, murmuring healing spells at the bruises on his arm and neck, watching them fade. His face is starting to go back to it’s normal color, the freckles returning from the sea of red. 

I’m still healing his arm when he sits up. “Enough,” He grumbles, “It’s fine, you can leave the rest.” 

I step back silently, not sure what to say. Usually, I’m the wordier one of the two of us. This is embarrassing. But what are you supposed to say when you heal your nemesis after he comes stumbling in, after his mentor  _ left  _ him to face giants,  _ alone.  _ I’m not even sure why I’m so mad about it; I don’t care if he gets hurt. I’m not sure why I helped him, either. 

He probably would have been fine. Maybe mega healing comes with his powers, like a superhero. I’ve seen him literally explode; it wouldn’t surprise me. 

This is probably run-of-the-mill for him. He could have spent his summer like this, off on adventures with the Mage. Or getting sent on adventures, while the Mage sits safe in his stupid office with his stupid mustache and even stupider cape. 

I don’t actually know what Simon did all summer. Fiona says I should be spying on him more, but that would mean I have to spend more time with him. Besides, he never answers my questions. He just goes off. 

“Er,” He says now, scratching the back of his neck with his good arm, “Thanks. I guess.” 

I sneer. “We’re never speaking of this ever again.” 

He nods, taken aback. “Right. Good… night then.” 

I don’t say anything, spelling the lights off and climbing into bed. I hear it when Simon’s breathing evens out, fairly quickly-- he must be exhausted.

It’s bright out when I finally drift off. I dream about stone giants crushing the Mage like a bug.

We never speak of that night ever again. 

**Author's Note:**

> comments would make my day :) things are shit rn lmfao
> 
> [join the server! make some friends!](https://discord.gg/RKJmMbx)
> 
> [or find me on tumblr lmao](https://angryjane.tumblr.com/)
> 
> and remember! the poor can't go hungry if they're eating the rich!


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